


I won't freeze you out (like I have been)

by winsol



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Translation, post 3x15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsol/pseuds/winsol
Summary: In which Connor doesn't react as Oliver expected to the proposal.





	I won't freeze you out (like I have been)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [I won't freeze you out (like I have been)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628174) by [winsol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsol/pseuds/winsol). 



> One shot that takes place right after Oliver's proposal. The title comes from the song Freeze you out by Marina Kaye.  
> Disclaimer : I don't own any of HTGAWM's characters.
> 
> This is my first translation (I originally writed this fic in French) so please go easy on me !  
> Also, biggest thanks to ViolinGirl1997 (on ao3) and bash4102 (on fanfiction.net) who kindly proofread this work !

"Marry me."

 

Connor was lying on his stomach, naked and savoring his boyfriend's kisses against his spine.

 

"I mean it... Marry me."

 

Next thing he knows, the pure desire running through his veins turns into ice, and he rolls over to see the biggest smile on Oliver's face.

And he doesn't know what to say.

Before he even has a chance to process what just happened, Connor is getting up and putting his briefs back on. Oliver is watching him, shocked, his smile fading quickly. Connor realizes he's waiting for an answer, so he chooses the first nonsense that comes to his mind.

 

"Well, I guess sex is cancelled then."

 

He's quite disappointed, honestly. But most of all, he's really, really confused.

Oliver doesn't wait to plaster that embarrassed smile that means he's hurt but trying to not let is show, and it's all it takes to confirm to Connor that maybe he should've kept quiet. He blames it on the shock – who knows how to react to such a demand?

 

"I wasn't expecting this, Oliver manages to say in a tone that's supposed to be neutral, right after he put a pillow between his legs."

"I think that's _my_ line."

"For fuck's sake, I can't believe it... Could you at least _pretend_ to be interested?"

"I am, I... I mean, I don't know what to tell you."

"It's a yes or a no, Connor, that's it."

"Yeah, well, I don't now. You happy now? I have no fucking idea."

 

Even though he knows there's no reason to be angry, he can't help it. He doesn't even know who he's mad at. Selfishly, he blames Oliver for putting him in such a position. But he also blames himself for being so confused in front of a question he should already know the answer to. It should be simple; it should be obvious. As obvious as Oliver's demand seemed, spontaneous, natural. The logical next step of their relationship.

Unfortunately, that's not how Connor sees things.

 

"I'm gonna take a walk", he says abruptly as he gets up to grab a sweater and jeans.

"I should've guessed it!" retorts Oliver, rolling his eyes.

"Guessed _what_ , huh?"

 

Connor's voice sounds angrier than before. Oliver already seems to regret what he said. He should have bitten his tongue; both of them should have. But he's said too much to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth.

 

"That you would run away. You know, you could just give me an answer and then we'd be done with it, whether it's a yes or a no. But you'd rather run because you're scared of commitment, or maybe because you already know you're going to refuse and you want to spare me..." Oliver rambled, more so trying to rationalize Connor’s behavior to himself rather than to Connor it seemed.

"Great, here we go again with the pity thing! Thank you for reminding me why it felt so weird to see you so eager to marry me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, like, a week ago, you were standing right here telling me that I was staying with you out of pity and that I was using you as a safety blanket to protect myself. And the funniest thing is that back then, you very clearly dumped me, but you didn't say once since then that we got back together."

"Come on, we were about to have sex..."

"Well, maybe it's enough of a proof for you, but sex doesn't mean anything to me Oliver!"

 

Oliver stands speechless, shocked. Connor knows what happens next: the scene tastes like a bitter deja vu. As soon as he comes to his senses, Oliver will ask him to leave, even though he needs Connor like he needs oxygen. And Connor will only protest until ultimately obeying, even though it's the last thing he wants.

He knows it, because it's how it went each time he hurt Oliver too much – and this happened a lot. Except for this one time when he chooses to leave before giving Oliver any other reason to kick him out. And he's not strong enough to hear his boyfriend ordering him to get out. So, before Oliver has a chance to say anything else, Connor adds:

 

"I didn't say no, and it's not out of pity. It's because I don't know. And I don't think you do either. You've been scared to lose me; I get that. When we thought that Phillip had kidnapped you and you came back, safe and sound, I was so relieved I could have asked you anything. You can fuck up really fast in these circumstances. And... I'm not running away. I just... Fuck, I really need some air. And some time to process all of this – alone. Don't wait for me to come home. Good night, Ollie."

 

He turns on his tail as soon as he's done talking. He doesn't want to hear whatever Oliver has to tell him – he won't be able to stand it. He's not strong enough to hear all the insults he deserves, and he doesn't want Oliver to ask him to stay either. Because he knows he could never refuse it.

But right now, closure is not what they need.

It's only after he slammed the door that he lets his tears stream down his face.

 

* * *

 

Nothing happens when he knocks at Michaela's door.

He pulls the doorknob, hoping that Michaela is with Asher and that it's the reason why she didn't hear him knocking, but also fearing to catch them in a compromising position.

But the door is locked.

He sighs, mentally cursing Michaela before remembering right after that she was always here to pick him up after each fight with Oliver. He swallows, angrily wipes his tear-stained cheeks and texts her:

 

_**Where are you? I'm outside your apartement.** _

 

At least, she's quick to answer.

 

_**I'm at Laurel's. It's a long story. What did you do?** _

 

He hesitates between explaining to her the whole situation, saying that it's also a long story – whereas it's really not, writing that he's a jerk would sum it up pretty well – and getting offended by the fact that she immediately jumped to the conclusion that _he_ fucked up – which is totally true, though.

His fingers are still lingering above his phone screen, not daring to type anything, when his phone vibrates again. Another text from Michaela.

 

_**Never mind. Asher's key is under the doormat. Take my bed, I won't be coming home tonight.** _

 

Good, because he's clearly on his way to spending the whole night crying and he'd rather do it privately. He texts her a quick thank you back, then grabs the key.

_After one year studying criminology, she's still trusting enough to leave her key in the most cliche place ever_ , he thinks as he unlocks the door. Michaela must be a little too naive.

Or maybe Connor himself became way too paranoïd.

 

* * *

 

The clock displays 2 p.m. when Connor manages to keep his eyes open long enough to check the time.

So much for class. That being said, the hours of sleep were worth it, though interrupted by tears and nightmares during the night. He only slept really well once the morning lights started to filter through Michaela's curtains. Staying in the dark is too much for him to handle – so many horrors happened in the dark. Oliver's presence doesn't keep the nightmares away, but at least his boyfriend's soothing voice and his familiar arms are usually enough to lead Connor through his night terrors until he wakes up. Alone, he has to do it on his own, to trade the darkness that haunts his mind with the one that occupies the room when he opens his eyes; alone, there's nothing to remind him that he's safe, because that's Oliver's role.

He could live without Oliver. He just couldn't stay sane more than a week.

His phone starts vibrating the minute he turns it on. Michaela's name is everywhere on his screen; a few missed calls, and too many unread texts.

 

_**Where are you?** _

_**Oliver called me to know if I had heard from you. I told him you were at my place. I guess you didn't want him to know, but I don't care.** _

_**I don't think he wanted to see you, though. You must have really fucked up.** _

_**But maybe not that much, because he still seemed terribly worried.** _

_**Be a man and bring your ass back to your place to take care of your boyfriend.** _

_**You'd better leave my apartment before I get back or you'll regret it.** _

_**You could at least answer me, I remind you that it was only thanks to me if you didn't sleep outside.** _

 

Other insults, some texts filled only with exclamation marks... Connor quickly sorts it. Then, thinking the faster he answers the better, he types:

 

_**Just woke up. Sorry.** _

 

Then he adds:

 

_**I'll certainly need to stay at your place tonight, though.** _

 

Two texts follow his:

 

_**I'm going to kill you.** _

_**Consider yourself lucky if I let one inch of you on my couch. You'd better have a good explanation.** _

 

_If only you knew_ , he thinks.

 

* * *

 

"What is smelling this good?" Michaela asks when she opens the door.

"Teriyaki chicken", Connor answers from the kitchen.

"Shit, I love that... You're trying to bribe me, right?"

"Totally. And I didn't have anything else to do, so..."

"This better be _really_ good if you plan on making me forget how angry I am right now."

 

It seems better not to answer – because he doesn't want to offer Michaela another reason to yell at him because of a poor choice of words, and because he isn't confident enough with his cooking skills to brag about them. When he hears Michaela's heels come closer to him, he turns around to flash her a little smile, to which she answers by pulling him into a tight hug. He frowns in surprise, and just awkwardly pats her back.

 

"What's the occasion?" he manages to ask, trying not to sound too uncomfortable.

"You scared me", she growls.

"Because I skipped school? You're overreacting."

"I'm talking about yesterday, jerk."

"Uh, yes, yesterday. Well, I'm back, vacation's over. And, you know, the only leverage the guy offered me in exchange for my testimony was a cheeseburger, so... he wasn't that dangerous, after all."

 

She nods, then steps back to take a spoon.

 

"Can I taste?"

"I'm not that good of a cook", he warns her, "Oliver usually takes care of it, so..."

 

He freezes in the middle of his sentence, without adding that Oliver still taught him some tricks during the multiple times Connor tried to convince him to engage in activities way spicier than his dishes. Then, Oliver's only way to stay focused was to blather tip after tip until Connor got bored.

And, sometimes, Oliver gave in and gave Connor what he wanted. There's not one piece of furniture that can't attest to it.

But right now, Connor doesn't really want to talk about his boyfriend.

 

"You know, the only tool Asher knows how to use in this kitchen is the microwave", Michaela confesses. "And he only uses it to warm up the pizzas he orders. So I had to lower my expectations. Oh my god, this is so good! she adds. You're officially husband material, Connor!"

 

This last sentence freezes Connor.

_I know someone who would agree with you_ , he thinks without saying it out loud, because he knows where his fat mouth would lead them if he opened it, and he'd rather not tempt fate while he's still cooking. He fakes a smile and answers:

 

"Too bad I'm not interested in girls, darling."

"I'll get over it. Do I have time to shower before it's ready?"

"Hurry up!"

 

Twenty minutes later, Michaela comes back from the bathroom. They eat in silence, tacitly agreeing to not ruin Connor's food – which is delicious, to his surprise – by talking about sore topics. But the truce is short and, as she gets up to clear the table, Michaela attacks:

 

"So, what happened?"

 

He comes closer to her and takes a rag to dry the dishes she's cleaning. He doesn't dare looking into her eyes as he explains:

 

"He proposed to me."

"Oh. My. God", she answers, and she turns to him – but Connor keeps his head down. "Don't tell me he kicked you out because you said no."

" _I_ kicked myself out because I didn't know what to answer."

"C'mon, Connor, three letters, that's your answer. Okay, you panicked, everyone does that sometimes, but all you have to do is get your ass back there and..."

"No", he cuts her off. "No, Michaela, I didn't panic... Okay, maybe I did", he admits as he gets a suspicious look. "But that's not the point. I don't think he wants it, he was just happy that I was alive and he got carried away..."

"Did it ever occur to you that he did this because he's head over heels in love with you? And so are you."

"So what? Do I have to walk down the aisle to prove it to him? To sign a piece of paper so that he'll finally believe me? This is so _stupid_."

"I can understand why you despise marriage this much if you've never been in love before Oliver, but you can't expect everybody to be as cynical as you, you know."

"That's true, but I was expecting you to be on _my_ side on this, considering what happened to you."

"We're not bringing Aiden up! But if it makes you feel any beter, you're not likely to suddenly discover that Oliver is straight. That kind of bad luck only happens to me. And don't count on me to support you when you reject the best thing you have."

"Very well. How is Laurel?"

 

His change of subject is anything but discreet, and Michaela rolls her eyes as to say _we're not done with this_ , but answers nevertheless:

 

"She came up with a stupid plan to discover the truth about Wes' death. We went to a bar to find Charles Mahoney, and guess who was the bait?"

"The prettiest girl, of course."

"You're hilarious. Anyway, I was hitting on him and he offered to take me to his place. I panicked and went to the bathroom to convince Laurel to let me out of this mess. And what did she do? She pulled a fucking _gun_ out of her purse and said she's going anyway. We followed her outside, Asher and I, and Mahoney was waiting for me next to a cab. She started to walk in his direction, but she ran into one of his father's friends and Mahoney left."

"Oh, what were the odds?"

"Yes, it was weird... Kind of convenient."

 

He nods, already trying to link their case to Laurel's family, but his brain is too tired to follow. And he's got bigger fish to fry.

 

"I'm going to sleep", Michaela announces. "You can have the couch."

"Okay. And... if anyone asks you about me tomorrow, can you tell them I'm sick?"

"You're not going to skip classes _again_?"

"Well, Annalise is not back yet, so what's the point?"

"The _point_? Maybe all the other classes you're supposed to attend in order to graduate? Class which we _totally_ suck at by the way _,_ thanks to Annalise. Moreover, as long as she hasn't got her job back, Oliver is kind of jobless. You won't even see him."

"That's not about Oliver – I was kidnapped, okay? I deserve a few days off."

"Kidnapped by a guy who offered you a cheeseburger!"

"True, but it was still scary. By the way, if you hear me screaming during the night, it's probably cause I'll be dreaming of his ugly mug."

 

Both of them know his nightmares have nothing to do with this story, but Michaela doesn't say anything. She just rolls her eyes, as if she was dealing with a particularly annoying kid. Which he must be, from time to time. In spite of that, Michaela keeps sticking with him hell or high water.

He's way too proud to ever admit it out loud, but he's grateful.

 

* * *

 

How did he end up here?

Two sentences are enough to explain, actually. Asher suggesting getting wasted, and Connor answering that he knew the perfect place to do so. This is how he ended up in the bar where he met Oliver, with a stranger hitting on him. Well, not exactly, because the man just sat next to Connor and has not opened his mouth yet, but the two glasses he's holding leave no doubt about his intentions.

He turns to Connor and hands him one of the drinks, suggestively raising an eyebrow. Connor thanks him with a flirtatious smile, takes the glass and sips some of the cocktail.

 

"You come here often?" the other man asks him.

 

From what Connor can see through his sight made glassy by the abuse of alcohol, the man seems attractive. A strong jaw softened by a light smile, deep blue eyes and shoulders so broad that the guy must have a lot of free time to spend at the gym. Something's wrong, though. Maybe the hair. It seems quite light, and Connor usually goes for brunettes. Unless it's the smile, that lacks spontaneity. Or maybe it's just that this man is not the one Connor wants.

Yet, whoever he is, he still bought Connor a drink and for this reason, the law student thinks he can make efforts – especially as flirting comes naturally to him, even more so with some alcohol in his veins.

 

"No, not really", he finally answers. "Actually, I only came here once and it was a long time ago."

"Really? That's funny, I feel like I've already seen you. I never forget a pretty face."

 

The statement is so cliche that it takes all of Connor's self-control – which is very altered by the alcohol – not to roll his eyes. He almost snaps back with some sarcasm, but holds it back to not offend the other. He's not actually afraid to hurt his pride, but he could use another free drink. The safest option is certainly to give his name.

 

"I'm Connor", he says after taking another sip.

"Dylan. And what are your plans for the night, Connor?"

"To drink like a poor devil, hoping someone would have mercy on me and reduce my bill. Yours?"

"To offer a drink to a handsome poor devil and convince him to come with me to the gay club that just opened a couple of blocks away... if that's what you're into, of course."

"You _know_ that's what I'm into, you wouldn't have come near me otherwise."

"I could only hope. But now we're talking."

 

He leans over to Connor while he says this, and goes as far as touching Connor's knee. The stroke is light, tempting. It's only a taste, an invitation; a promise. The club is nothing but an excuse to leave the bar. They wouldn't even make it there. They would go straight to Dylan's place, which must not be far away if the guy's used to drinking here. Connor knows how to recognize men who are after one-night-stands. Those who treat each other like a piece of meat, to paraphrase dear Thomas, who are only there to consume, get off and then move on, find another target, another pretty piece. Connor was one of them for a long time, and it never took much to leave with him. One drink, a couple of smiles, some words shared to test the waters before getting to the point without losing any more time, and there he was, biting the pillow of some stranger's bed under the thrusts of a man just as unknown.

Connor sees them coming because he's like them. A predator that hunts his victims down and lures them in. Yet, this time, the role of the predator is already taken; endorsed by Dylan. Which makes Connor the prey. He doesn't know the rules anymore. He doesn't do this anymore. He's different.

And this hand on his knee, pledge of a sulfurous night, burns his skin as the claws of an eagle would.

However, he can't even decide whether to play along or to keep his distance because a voice he knows too well separates him from the other man.

 

"Hands off the merchandise, thank you."

"Excuse me?" Dylan immediately snaps, without letting Connor say anything. "Who are you to say this, his boyfriend?"

"Well, actually, I am."

 

Connor rolls his eyes. He should have guessed that some guardian angel would feel forced to intervene before things get too heated.

 

"Cut the bullshit, Asher. He's a friend", he adds to Dylan, "and I think it's his girlfriend who asked him to slap my hand."

"His girlfriend? But he just said..."

"Yeah, yeah, he lied. There's no one straighter than this man. Actually, he's so straight he almost throws up every time he hears about gay sex. He's just trying to prevent me from leaving with you."

 

Which Connor didn't really intend to do, anyway. Why can't he have a little fun? But now that his friends got involved, he almost feels like leaving with Dylan just to bother them. As a child, authority irritated Connor more than anything else. Especially when he's drunk. As far as talking some sense into him – his friends have known him long enough to know it's useless.

 

"Except that", he adds, "I'm a grown man who absolutely doesn't need a babysitter, and if Michaela is so persuaded otherwise, she can come and let me know by herself. Understood?"

"Think about Oliver", Asher protests, but he leaves right after.

 

The name hovers like a threat, sending a shiver as unpleasant as a cold shower down his spine. Oliver. They're still together, for what it's worth. Stuck in a deadlock, but still.

Talking to another man is not cheating; what said other man is offering him, though...

 

"Is he talking about Oliver Hampton?" Dylan asks.

"You know him?" Connor says, suddenly on the fence.

"He was working with me last year. And I remember you now. You came here to meet him, right?"

"What a memory", Connor mocks, though he's really surprised, and kind of impressed.

"Of course I remember. I lost twenty dollars because of him, that night. I made a bet that he couldn't leave with you."

"Really? That's funny, because I'm dating him, whereas you're only a guy slightly pushy in a bar. Still betting against him?"

 

Silence. Connor empties his glass in one gulp to keep his composure and gets up. Right before he leaves, he leans over to Dylan and whispers in his ear:

 

"Thanks for the drink."

 

Finding his friends is not that complicated. There are not many people dancing, since most of the customers prefer to sit while drinking their cocktails, and in the crowd, Asher draws the attention with his more than questionable dancing moves. Even Michaela seems embarrassed; her face lights up when she recognizes Connor – he is this close to call himself a savior.

 

"I can't stand him anymore", she complains as he puts a friendly arm around her.

"I assume this is why you sent him to me?"

"Well, whatever it takes, you're not cheating on Oliver on my watch. Trust me."

"I have a better taste than that. Overconfident guys tend to get on my nerves."

" _You_ get on my nerves." Michaela points out.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. I've got enough ego for two."

 

_No kidding_ , she seems to say, but there are no words. They stay like this for a few minutes, slowly swinging in rhythm with the music. Connor feels a little dizzy because of the alcohol, and he thinks about sitting in order to calm his mind, but this is when Asher starts thrusting into the air suggestively. Connor reads Michaela's exasperation on his face, and she doubtlessly sees the same when she looks at him.

 

"It's about time we get him out of here, right?" she sighs.

"You take care of him, he's _your_ boo."

"You don't give me any lessons about how to take care of my boyfriend", she retorts, but she still goes to Asher.

 

They leave the bar as soon as Asher agrees to leave the dancefloor. Michaela whispers god knows what in his ear while they get to her car, while Connor silently walks behind them, with his head down and his hands in his pockets. Third-wheeling at its finest. He sits on the backseat, and waits until Michaela turns on the car to talk:

 

"Drop me at Oliver's."

"Bad idea", Asher comments before coughing as if it would hide his words.

"Hey, who asked for your advice, king of the dancefloor?" Connor retorted.

"I'm with him on this, Connor", Michaela admits in a calm voice, although he can see the worry in her eyes as she looks at him in the rearview mirror. "It's almost one a.m. and you're wasted. You're going to fuck up again..."

 

It's the «again» that sets Connor off. Without even thinking, he opens the door of the moving car as Michaela is leaving the parking lot.

Michaela hits the brakes violently, and the shock torments Connor's already mistreated stomach.

 

"CONNOR!" Michaela screams with a high-pitched voice, "what the hell are you doing?!"

"I don't need your approval to go home!" he yells at least as loud as her.

"Alright, alright", she gives in, trying to calm him. "But don't you dare knock on my door if you fuck up. And cut the bullshit right now before you get us all killed."

"Just drop me there."

 

It doesn't take more than ten minutes to get there, because Oliver kept the same apartment as when they met. Connor doesn't even know if he feels relieved or worried when Michaela parks in front of their building, but at least, it's a familiar place, finally. Michaela stops the car and turns to him to ask:

 

"So, you're going to say yes?"

 

Without answering, Connor leaves the car and slams the door on Asher wondering "say yes to what?". He quickly crosses the streets, barely checking both sides of the road before doing so and then enters the building. He doesn't have his key, but the door isn't locked anyway. The latch is broken and has not been replaced since the first time he stepped foot there. This is part of the reason why he wanted to move to California. This, the sun and the three hundred or so miles that would separate him from Annalise Keating.

But now, he's so paranoid that even protected by a dozen locks, he couldn't help but wondering, _is Oliver safe?_ , and there's no cure to this. Not the sun, not the distance between him and Annalise, not even Oliver's love. There is no escape from the memories haunting his head, from the little voice telling him _look what you've done, everything is your fault_. He carries all of his crimes and mistakes as tattoos, indelible, as a weight on his shoulders, too heavy to ever be forgotten.

He bangs on Oliver's door, and feels like he's coming down as he waits for an answer. The numbing dizziness in his head turns into hammer blows against his skull, the first sign of a massive hangover. His head spins again, painfully, and when Oliver opens the door...

When Oliver opens the door, Connor rushes to their bathroom to throw up.

He throws up until there's nothing left to spit in his throat, regretting that most of the alcohol is already running through his veins. Even after that, he stays draped over the toilet, shaking, until he hears Oliver clearing his throat. His boyfriend is standing behind him, with a glass of water in his hand. He seems to be waiting for something – his approval, Connor realizes fast. Because Oliver knows that sometimes, when Connor feels really bad, like after some nightmares, he needs space to breathe and calm down.

But now, even though he's got no right to ask for it, it's closure that he needs.

He just reaches out to the glass, and Oliver kneels next to him to give it to him.

 

"Here you go", he says softly.

"Thank you", Connor answers, his voice as broken as if he had screamed all night long.

 

He rinses his mouth and spits in the toilet directly, not caring about how dirty it is. He was already disgusting before that, anyway. It then takes all of his strength to flush. This being done, he speaks, hoping that his voice would get lost like the dirty water:

 

"Do you hate me?"

 

Oliver sighs and takes Connor in his arms. He doesn't just hold him, but pulls him really tight, as if to make sure it's physically impossible for Connor to escape again. A human prison. Connor doesn't complain about being locked in this one. Of course, he thinks he doesn't deserve this. It doesn't prevent him from reciprocating the hug.

 

"I wish I could, sometimes", Oliver admits against his hair. "It would make my life a lot easier."

 

_Nobody said it was easy_ , Connor then thinks. Of course it's not – it's not _supposed_ to be. Love, just like faith, demands to be tested. Otherwise, how could people be sure of their feelings? It's the same fight each day, with the same question, the same choice to make at the end: _is this the person I want to be with?_

To Connor, the choice is obvious. It's crystal clear. He dares to believe that Oliver feels the same.

 

"You know I'd never take revenge on you", Oliver adds. "I'd never hurt you like I have been. Not on purpose, at least. "

"I am so sorry." Connor whispers.

"I know."

"I shouldn't have..."

"Not now, Connor", Oliver cuts him off. "We'll talk about this, but right now, you're a mess, and I'm exhausted. Sleep first."

 

Connor nods, too tired and drunk to argue. He just rests his head in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, trying to sync their breathing to relax. Everything is familiar: the warmth of Oliver's skin, its scent... even the shivers that shakes it when he blows some air on it.

Oliver's a little ticklish – Connor perfectly knows it, but sometimes he likes to pretend he forgot.

 

"Screw you", growls Oliver, but he's laughing. "Move."

"If it is my Lord's wish", Connor mocks, but he still gets a kiss on the cheek.

 

Once in the bedroom, he quickly undresses and puts clean briefs on before finally crawling in his bed. With his boyfriend.

Oliver looks at him, smiling. A frank smile, that makes Connor want to kiss him. He only holds back because he can still feel the disgusting taste of puke on his tongue, although it may be only psychological. The picture of Oliver looking at him this way is a nice enough one to keep in mind when his boyfriend turns off the light.

However, a few seconds are enough to make the darkness and silence too heavy for Connor, so he asks:

 

"Do you remember a Dylan, from your previous job?"

"I do. Why do _you_ know his name?"

"He hit on me in a bar. Your name was mentioned and he told me he knows you."

"It's, like, absolutely ridiculous, but back then, _I_ was hitting on him. Trying to, at least", he clarifies with an embarrassed laugh, making Connor understand that it had lead nowhere – which actually relieves him, and at the same time confirms that the man he almost spent the night with is really not that clever.

"Really? He doesn't seem like your type, though."

"Are you kidding me? Some pretty boy with the face and body of a model, who knows it and uses it, so self-confident he dares to offer a night in his bed to a stranger at a bar... Doesn't it seem familiar?"

"No, not at all." Connor says sarcastically.

"You're a jerk." Oliver laughs. "And you're a lot more handsome than he is."

 

That's enough to make Connor smile. Then he closes his eyes, hoping that he may get some hours of sleep. He's had better nights than the one spent on Michaela's couch. Minutes pass and he still doesn't feel anything else than a slight numbness. That's when Oliver's voice breaks the silence, not louder than a whisper, as he must think Connor's already asleep.

 

"You're going to break my heart, someday."

 

_Then I'll break my own_ , Connor thinks, but he refuses to say it out loud.

 

He keeps fooling himself, thinking about all the efforts he intends to make in order to be a better man, especially when it comes to Oliver. It's just lies. He knows that deep down, he is too destructive to trust himself. He's always been this way, but before, it was just a game to him, to hit where he knew it would hurt and see the results. It was back when he had nothing – no one – to lose. He's always been hurting the people around him, and Oliver more than anyone else. He keeps thinking he'll eventually stop. Nothing's less certain.

His life was easier before Oliver walked in it, too. And he thought, more than once, that everything would have been better for Oliver if their paths had never crossed. Yet, if he could go back and if it was only up to him, Connor would go into this bar again and again, and he would order that cocktail too sweet for his taste only to get the exact same feelings he has right now.

 

* * *

 

"Connor... wake up, Connor. Connor."

 

The familiar voice slowly replaces the terrifying noises of his dream – which are his own breathing, and numbers said out loud. One, two, three, four. _Wake up, Wes_.

A hand soothingly pats his back, making him flinch at first. He only accepts it when he hears:

 

"It's me, it's Oliver. Listen to me Connor. Breathe."

 

He obeys. This is just another night, and he's survived many of them already.

 

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Quarter past four."

 

Good. Soon he will see the sun rising through the curtains, and he'll finally be able to breathe.

 

"I'm sorry I woke you up", he says after a few minutes. "Go back to sleep."

"What was it, this time?" Oliver asks nevertheless. Connor knew it was coming, but he was still hoping his boyfriend would close his eyes and let it go.

"Everyone. I mean... You know. Wes, Sam, Annalise..."

"Annalise? I didn't know you had dreams about her."

 

Now that her name slipped from his mouth, Connor knows there's no going back nor escape. Lack of sleep and hangover be damned. No more lies, they decided. Connor had done his best to respect this rule. But he still has a hard time accepting that hiding the truth isn't more honest than lying.

Oliver is disappointed. He knows something is happening, something that he knows nothing about yet. Connor doesn't need to see it on his features, or to hear it, to guess it. It's enough to just feel the way Oliver's fingers froze on his back, their soothing strokes gone already. Maybe he should just spit it out now, while Oliver still has some hope and while he hasn't decided to withdraw his hand yet.

 

"Would you kill for me, Ollie?"

"Me?" Oliver replies with a forced laugh. "I'm afraid of blood, and spiders, and..."

"I know, I hate spiders too", Connor admits while fighting the urge, inappropriate at this very moment, to smile. "But, I mean, if somebody was threatening me-"

"This already happened!" Oliver cuts him off. "I don't understand where this is going."

"You would if you let me finish! Anyway. What's your answer?"

"I don't know. I have the right to a joker, don't I? You made me understand that it's allowed between us, in order to avoid a serious question."

 

Connor grits his teeth. There's no escape from _this_ talk either.

 

"Alright", Connor gives in. "Then... Do you think I'd kill for you?"

"You tell me."

 

His hand is still on Connor's back, but his grip is firmer than before, although not painful yet. Maybe Oliver himself doesn't realize it, but Connor can feel it. Oliver's never been one to hide his feelings. Something always gives him away. If not his words, it's his body language that does so, now as easy to read as if Connor had learnt it when he was five.

And Connor, Connor's no good in telling the truth, to the extent that he needs to beat about the bush, turning into an interrogation a confession that wouldn't need more than a few words to finally be told.

 

"Do you remember that night at the Hapstalls, when Wes shot Annalise?"

"Yes?"

"Well, she gave me the gun first. And at first, I didn't want to shoot, I swear, but... She started talking. You know Annalise. Her words are like poison. She told me she'd ruin my life, and then yours. That she had enough evidence on you to send you to jail, and that what would happen to you there... you know it as well as I do. I panicked, I lost my mind, I... I took the damn gun, Oliver. I took it and I pointed it at her chest. I was going to do it. I just wanted her to shut up! But Michaela stepped in. I would have done it otherwise. And I don't even know what it means. Am I just a freak that anything can set off, or am I so weak I can be so easily manipulated into _shooting_ someone?"

"It means you love me", Oliver answers. His voice is deep, almost hoarse, mirroring Connor's. "You didn't do it. Nothing else matters."

"No", Connor forces a laugh. "I would have if it wasn't for Michaela."

"We don't know that. Maybe you couldn't have brought yourself to pull the trigger."

"And maybe I would have. I feel like her blood is on my hands anyways. Like Sam's and Wes'. And... and Paxton's."

"None of them was your fault."

 

He doesn't even know when his tears started running down his cheeks, but they are flooding his face now. Guilt strikes him so hard then, certainly taking advantage of his sudden weakness to take revenge on all the times he pushed it back. He _is_ guilty.

 

"I couldn't save them. I was there when Wes killed Sam, when Paxton jumped from that window, it happened right before my eyes, all of it. I was there for each of them, and I did _nothing_. The others call me a monster, but they weren't there. Nobody killed themselves because of them. None of them came back to see Annalise bleeding to death, nor tried to resuscitate Wes."

 

He pauses to wipe off the tears from his nose, and immediately talks again so Oliver doesn't get enough time to speak.

 

"But I don't blame them. How could I? Maybe I am a monster. Because it didn't disgust me to break Sam's bones and to put his body on fire. Because I would have shot Annalise thinking it would be a good riddance. Because I used a guy's body for intel and it has cost him his life. That's what I am. It's also because of me that you got HIV and..."

"Connor, stop."

"No. You wanted to have this talk, well, this is it. You wouldn't just marry me, you'd marry all of this, and you have to know that. All this disgusting stuff. One day, you'll wake up and think that you shouldn't have married the guy that will get you killed. I'll keep hurting you, disappointing you, and you'll regret everything. And... I'm sick, Oliver, I'm traumatized, I... I'm no good. There may be some nights when I'll be a mess like yesterday, mornings when I won't be able to get up – I don't even know how I managed to do it until now. I'm no good for anybody, I ruin everything I can get my hands on and I... you're the last person I want to ruin. Marrying you wouldn't be a risk for me, but for you, because you'd have to carry all of this. The truth is _I_ should be asking you if you're ready to do it. Not the other way around."

"You're not asking me, though."

 

Oliver's tone is calm; it's a statement, not an accusation. Connor's surprised that he doesn't look as hurt as he did after his proposal.

 

"I'm not", is all Connor manages to say.

"Why?"

"If I said no right now, would it change anything for you? Do you need this to be sure that I love you?"

"No. But I want to understand why."

"Because I love you", Connor confesses after clearing his throat. "I really love you, Ollie. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you keep me on and I don't want to ruin this. I'm well aware of my luck, and I don't want to take it for granted. I don't want to promise you I'll love you my whole life, and I don't want you to do it either. I just want to keep doing it, knowing I could lose this, lose you, any second. I don't want to feel safe just because we signed some stupid piece of paper."

"It's a no then?"

"It's a no", Connor confirms, " _but_ it's a promise that I'll never take what we have for granted, and that I'll fight to make this work. No matter what happens."

"Why does your no sound _exactly_ like wedding vows?"

"Now you're pushing your luck." Connor smiles.

"I'm glad I didn't buy you a ring..."

"Can I have the ring without the wedding? I could use solid gold."

"You don't even deserve a plastic ring! Also, I'm glad I didn't propose in public."

 

Which actually makes Connor think about the last minutes before he entered the building last night – Oliver seems happier now, maybe it's the right time to drop a little bomb.

 

"Well, about that... Asher may have understood you proposed. Because Michaela said some stupid shit about it while she was driving me back here and..."

"You told _Michaela_?!"

"I was sleeping at her place, what else what I supposed to do?"

"You could've stayed here, for starters! Asher's going to give me that same old speech than when _you_ told him I was sick..."

"Yes, he may... I'm sorry."

"Your big fat mouth will get me killed..."

"This would sound way better if we were undressed. Speaking of..." Connor adds with a devilish grin.

"It's almost five o'clock, Connor. We can still get two hours of sleep."

"We could. Or we could do something more pleasant, that will result in me having so many hickeys everybody will know we're good, and then Asher will be so embarrassed he'll have to mind his own business."

"This _almost_ sounds like a good plan."

"What does it sound like now?" Connor asks before pulling Oliver in a heated kiss.

"Just put your big fat mouth where it would really be useful", his boyfriend replies before kissing Connor's neck, sucking a mark on his skin that wouldn't remain unnoticed for the next couple days.

 

Connor is more than happy to comply.


End file.
